Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  “He loves that,” Hana said.

  “I know,” Sadie said as she leaned over and let Leon lick the end of her nose. “Can I let him play in the backyard while we make the hummus? I bought him a new chew toy.”

  “Sure.”

  Hana followed Sadie through the open living and dining room to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Ben stood at the sink rinsing lettuce. Sadie’s father was five feet ten with wavy dark hair similar in color to his daughter’s except that his was increasingly streaked with gray. In the five years since his wife’s death, Ben hadn’t remarried or seriously dated.

  “More salads are on the menu for me,” Ben said after he greeted Hana. “Sadie poked my stomach the other night when I was wearing pajamas and asked me why it was so soft and fluffy.”

  Hana laughed. She glanced through the door and saw Sadie throwing a yellow tennis ball for Leon to retrieve.

  “Leon perked up when he saw Sadie,” Hana said. “He was tired after a long day at the kennel.”

  “Thanks for coming over on the spur of the moment,” Ben replied. “Sadie loves anything spontaneous.”

  “With Daud out of town, my little house feels lonely, so it was perfect timing.”

  As soon as she said the words, Hana realized that Ben might compare Daud’s temporary absence with Gloria’s permanent one. Thankfully, Ben didn’t seem to make the connection as he placed two ripe tomatoes on a cutting board.

  “Do you think we should keep the chicken warm in the oven?” he asked.

  “Yes. And do you still have a bowl for Leon’s food?”

  “It’s in there,” Ben said and pointed to a lower cabinet.

  Hana retrieved a pink bowl Sadie had insisted on buying for Leon and filled it with food. Ben diced the tomatoes. A long, narrow cucumber lay untouched on the counter.

  “I’ll slice the cucumber,” Hana said, sliding the cutting board toward her.

  “Thanks,” Ben answered. “Besides having a soft belly, there is another reason I want to eat healthier and lose weight.”

  Hana cut three perfectly uniform thin pieces of cucumber.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Ben glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door that remained closed. “I’ve met someone.”

  Hana stopped in mid-slice. “To date?” she asked.

  “Yes. And I’d like to talk to you about it.”

  * * *

  Esma Kolisnyk screamed.

  “Go after Bondar!” Daud yelled at Joe. “I’ll get Kolisnyk!”

  There was another loud pop, and a bullet splintered a board on the dock at their feet.

  Daud pushed Esma Kolisnyk toward Lynn. “Get her on the yacht!” Daud said.

  Lynn remained frozen in place.

  “Now!” Daud commanded.

  Without waiting to see if Lynn obeyed, Daud sprinted to the spot where Artem had dived into the water and followed him into the sea. Daud came up about ten feet from the pier. The water was warm and heavy with salt, which made it easy to tread. He heard the splash of someone else entering the water and assumed it was Joe on the opposite side of the dock. There was another loud pop. Daud tried to listen for the sound of Artem moving through the water but heard nothing.

  He swam a few strong strokes parallel to the pier and toward the shore. The shadows cast by the yachts and the pier made visibility poor even with the brightness of the moon. He grabbed a large bolt that connected the pier to a post and strained to see in the darkness.

  “Over here!” he heard Joe call out. “I have Bondar.”

  The whole marina would soon be in an uproar. A sick feeling rose in Daud’s stomach. With all the gunfire and commotion, the police or Egyptian military would arrive soon, and Daud would have no chance of avoiding capture. He released his grip on the bolt and slipped quietly through the water to the next piling. He wasn’t even sure Artem Kolisnyk could swim. The size of the yachts in this section of the marina meant the water had to be at least ten meters deep, and a poor swimmer wearing shoes and clothes would have trouble staying afloat. Daud had to locate Artem soon.

  He moved around the piling so he could push off with his feet. As he reached the dock side of the piling, his right hand encountered something wet and bony. It was Artem’s hand wrapped around a wooden crossbar. Daud grabbed the Ukrainian, who tried to pull away, but he was no match for Daud’s strength.

  “Let me go!” Artem sputtered in Russian. “You have no right to keep me here!”

  Daud called out in English, “I have Kolisnyk!”

  Daud could hear voices calling out from other boats in the marina, but there were no more gunshots. Artem tried to kick him from beneath the water, but it was a feeble effort. Daud repositioned his grip on the Ukrainian.

  “Were you going to abandon your wife?” he asked the scientist in Russian.

  Kolisnyk didn’t answer. Daud could see a ladder several meters away and tried to calculate whether he could successfully drag Artem there. He heard footsteps overhead. A voice called out above them in English.

  “Daud, where are you?”

  It was Joe. A flashlight played across the water.

  “Here!” Daud answered. “I’m holding on to a crossbeam for one of the pilings. I have Kolisnyk.”

  The flashlight came closer, and Joe’s face appeared. He was lying on his stomach on the dock. His hair was wet, and he shone the light on Daud and Artem. The glare from the flashlight forced Daud to shut his eyes. The sound of sirens blared in the distance.

  “We’ve got to get going,” Joe said. “The police are on their way.”

  “I demand you turn me over to the police!” Artem said in Russian.

  “Hand him to me,” Joe said.

  Daud dislodged Artem from the wooden beam so that Joe could get a firm grip on the Ukrainian’s shirt.

  “Push,” Joe said to Daud.

  “Stop!” Artem called out.

  Joe was a strong man, and he pulled Kolisnyk upward. Daud put his hand on the Ukrainian’s lower back and pushed. When he did, one of Artem’s feet flew out and hit Daud in the nose so hard that it stunned him. Joe dragged the scientist out of the water and onto the pier.

  “You’re hurting me!” Artem protested.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Daud pulled himself onto the pier. Joe was half guiding, half dragging Artem toward the Americans’ yacht. Daud could hear the Ukrainian yelling for help in Arabic. A spotlight from another boat shone directly on them. There was no place to hide.

  Daud glanced over his shoulder behind him. If someone wanted to shoot him, now was a prime opportunity. He sprinted up to Joe and Artem so he could help Joe drag the Ukrainian onto the American yacht. As soon as they were aboard, the gangway began to rise in the air and the yacht moved away from the pier. In the distance, Daud could see the lights of emergency and police vehicles arriving at the spot where the taxi waited. The young taxi driver would soon be interrogated.

  “Where is Bondar?” Daud asked Joe in English.

  “Below deck receiving medical attention. He was shot, but I was able to pull him out of the water before he drowned.”

  “How badly is he hurt?”

  “I’m not sure. He was bleeding from a wound to the upper body.”

  Artem ran his hand through his hair. Wet and disheveled, he looked exhausted and frail.

  “You could have been shot too,” Daud said to him in Russian.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Artem shrugged.

  The yacht quickly picked up speed, the lights of Sharm el-Sheikh spreading across the nighttime horizon.

  “I’ll take Kolisnyk below,” Joe said to Daud in English. “Lynn’s orders are for you to stay topside.”

  “Topside?”

  “Your job is finished. Remember, you were supposed to drop them off and head to the airport. We’ll take it from here.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “That’s above my pay grade,” Joe said, lifting one shoulder.

  An American soldier
came on deck with an assault rifle in his hands and stood near Daud.

  Chapter 7

  “I’m listening,” Hana said to Ben as she slid a few thin pieces of cucumber into the salad bowl.

  “I need your perspective,” Ben said. “We both know that Sadie believes you hung the moon and stars.”

  It took Hana a moment to grasp the meaning of the comparison. “I love Sadie,” she replied simply.

  “And you’ve helped keep her emotional tank full when there were plenty of reasons for it to run dry.”

  Hana had spent a lot of time over the past eighteen months with Sadie—reading, listening, playing, and, importantly, singing over the young girl in Arabic and Hebrew. Hana believed some of the words she sang swirled upward as intercession to the God who perfectly loved the motherless girl.

  “I’m willing to back away when another woman enters her life,” Hana said slowly. “I’ll be thrilled if you meet and marry someone who can be a real mother to Sadie. I don’t want to be a roadblock to your happiness.”

  “No, it’s not that at all,” Ben said. “You’ve never crossed any boundaries. I want your help in easing Sadie into a new transition.”

  Hana sliced a few more pieces of cucumber. “What can you tell me about the woman you’re dating?”

  “It’s moving fast,” Ben replied. “Which is exciting and scary. Laura and I met ten weeks ago through a mutual friend, and we’ve talked almost every day since. She works as a custom designer at a jewelry boutique not far from the clothing store I manage. She’s eight years younger than I am and never married. We’ve gone out to dinner several times when Sadie was spending the evening with Gloria’s parents.”

  “Has Sadie met her?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I never wanted to introduce a woman into Sadie’s life unless I believed the relationship might last.”

  As she listened, Hana’s internal alarm bells sounded. “The practical side of me says you’re moving too fast,” she said.

  “Didn’t you decide that you wanted to marry Daud by the second date?”

  “True,” Hana admitted. “Is Laura Jewish?”

  “Yes,” Ben answered. “She used to go to synagogue when she was a kid but hasn’t connected with organized religion as an adult.”

  Hana and Ben had never seriously discussed matters of faith. She knew Ben occasionally attended synagogue, but beyond sending Sadie to a Jewish day school, Hana didn’t know what he believed. She decided it was a good time to ask, but before she could speak, he continued.

  “Laura is fine with me continuing to raise Sadie in the same way Gloria wanted until she’s old enough to make choices for herself. What’s rocked my world is the chemistry between Laura and me. It’s incredible.”

  “What do you mean by chemistry?”

  “The enjoyment we have in being together. We never feel bored, and I’ve been able to talk to Laura in a way I’ve not experienced with another person since Gloria died.”

  Hana’s concern for Sadie morphed into protectiveness. The door to the backyard opened, and Sadie entered. She gave Hana another quick hug.

  “You wear the most awesome perfume,” Sadie said. “Last week Daddy let me buy some perfume with my own money, but I can’t use it; I only take the top off the bottle and sniff it. It’s not the same. Katelin says perfume changes when it mixes with the oils on your skin.”

  “Katelin is the new expert on everything in Sadie’s life,” Ben said.

  “Let’s make the hummus,” Sadie said. “I have the recipe memorized.”

  “You’re in charge,” Hana said. “I’ll be your helper.”

  “That’s called a sous-chef,” Sadie added.

  After washing her hands at the kitchen sink, Sadie opened the cupboard and took out a can of chickpeas that she placed on the counter along with a lemon, a clove of roasted garlic, a bottle of olive oil, salt, and a small container of cumin.

  “Chickpeas don’t come from chickens,” Sadie said. “They are a bean. People have been eating them for seventy-five hundred years. Nathan argued with Mrs. Rosenstein about them coming from chickens until she told him to be quiet.”

  “I’ve seen the plants they grow on,” Hana said.

  “You can cook dried chickpeas,” Sadie continued. “But that takes a long time, so we’re going to use some from a can.”

  Hana remembered large pots of chickpeas cooking on the stove at her grandmother’s house. Over the next few minutes, Sadie gave a precise commentary as they mixed together the ingredients for the hummus.

  “We don’t want it to get runny,” she said.

  Hana took a picture of the little girl standing on her toes as she worked. After a final scrape with the spatula, Sadie announced that the hummus was finished. Hana lifted out the food processor blade, and Sadie carefully spread the hummus on a white plate.

  “The way food looks is art, just like a painting,” she said.

  Hana glanced at Ben, who mouthed, “She got this from her mother.”

  “Ready for the red peppers,” Sadie said. “We roasted a bunch of them at school and took off the skins.”

  Sadie retrieved a plastic bag from the refrigerator and picked out pieces of diced pepper and placed them on top of the hummus.

  “The little black parts are okay to eat,” she said. “It doesn’t taste burned.”

  “Do you want to top it off with more olive oil?” Hana asked.

  “Yes, yes, I forgot. Will you pour it into the tablespoon so I can drizzle it?”

  Hana’s English vocabulary was extensive, but “drizzle” was a new word for her. The golden oil glistened in tiny pools.

  “Beautiful,” Hana said. “It almost looks too good to eat.”

  “Nothing is too good to eat if it tastes good,” Sadie answered. “I like it on a pita chip.”

  “Let’s all take a bite at the same time,” Ben suggested.

  They each dipped a chip into the hummus.

  “This is very creamy and fresh tasting,” Hana said.

  “Because we just made it. Mrs. Rosenstein said the ingredients have to be added in the right order so the hummus doesn’t get messed up.”

  “That’s true about a lot of things,” Hana said with a glance at Ben. “If you want something to turn out perfectly, it’s important to keep that in mind.”

  * * *

  It took the yacht twenty minutes to reach its destination, a US Navy vessel. The yacht slowed when it was about five hundred meters from the ship, a modified Ticonderoga cruiser. Joe, Lynn, and several other people Daud didn’t recognize came up on deck. The Kolisnyks and Uri Bondar weren’t with them. Lynn came over to Daud.

  “I guess you’re wondering how you’re going to be extracted?” she asked.

  “Yes, and a ride to a safe harbor on that naval vessel suits me fine.”

  “Not happening,” Lynn replied bluntly. “This is an entirely US operation at this point. Joe is going to be on the yacht and coordinate dropping you off anywhere you like along the coast within a reasonable distance of Sharm el-Sheikh. You can exit the country per your previous plan.”

  “That won’t work,” Daud responded sharply. “There will be descriptions of me circulated by the police, most likely with photographs taken at the restaurant where I made contact with the Kolisnyks. Egyptian law enforcement and military personnel will be looking for me all over town, including the airport.”

  He quickly explained what happened at the restaurant and in villa 4.

  “That doesn’t change anything on our end,” Lynn replied. “We prepared a second set of identity papers if you’d like to use them. Joe has some extra clothes you can change into. The two of you look about the same size.”

  “I want to talk to Charlie,” Daud said, trying to stay calm.

  “Not now,” Lynn said flatly. “Charlie will be in touch with you later. If you want to avoid the airport, you can freelance an alternate exit strategy. You’re a contractor, so at this point you can act on your own initiative wi
thout prior authorization.”

  She handed Daud an envelope. Inside was a new passport using the same photo as the one for Rasheed Sayyid. His new name was Ibrahim Abadi, a Jordanian citizen. Also included was a credit card and a Jordanian driver’s license.

  Daud squared his shoulders and pointed across the water. “I want to board the cruiser,” he said. “Wherever it’s going, I can get off and make my way to the States.”

  “No, Mr. Hasan. And that’s final.”

  Lynn turned and left Daud. Joe came up to him.

  “Our orders are to wait in the cockpit,” he said to Daud.

  Fuming, Daud followed Joe to the bridge where the captain of the yacht manned the wheel. The skipper was a small, wiry Frenchman whom Daud had briefly met at the last planning meeting for the mission. The captain and his two French-speaking African crew members were also independent contractors hired for the mission. The captain greeted Daud in French. Daud responded in the same language.

  “That was scary back there,” the captain said, shaking his head. “In case the Egyptians are on the lookout for this vessel, I’m going to find a quiet spot and anchor up for four or five days before going through the Suez Canal for the return voyage to Marseilles.”

  “Can I go with you?” Daud asked, keeping the conversation in French.

  “No, no,” the captain answered, shaking his head. “The head woman told me no passengers allowed except Joe. I think he’s here to make sure we follow orders.”

  “Where should I go ashore near Sharm el-Sheikh?”

  “There’s a cove between El Tor and Sharm el-Sheikh. Nearby is the Suef fishing resort where you can rent a car in the morning.”

  “Speak English so I know what you’re talking about,” Joe cut in.